The Fifth Day of Lazarus
by Ellie 5192
Summary: … on the fifth day after he died, Lazarus realised he needed to get on with living. But first he had to decide exactly what that would look like. A series of one-shots based in the same timeline; loosely connected, canon-compliant, and all about The Parents. Picks up right after season 1. Maureen/John. Ratings vary.
1. Chapter 1

_A series of one-shots based in the same timeline; loosely connected, canon-compliant, and all about The Parents. Maureen/John. Ratings vary. This one's Teen and Up._

_**~0~**_

**The Fifth Day of Lazarus**

… _on the fifth day after he died, Lazarus realised he needed to get on with the art of living. But first he had to decide exactly what that would look like._

_**~0~**_

_**Chapter 1**_

Maureen knows exactly where to look in her luggage. It's dark - the kids and Don have all gone to bed, Smith is quiet, and the ship is locked up tight for the night. Outside the wind is howling and inside she and John are getting ready for bed. Tomorrow they will start construction on a greenhouse next to the hatch doors and all her childhood memories of crop cycling and soil levels will be put to use like she never expected they would.

But in the meantime, Maureen knows exactly where to look in her luggage, for the small box inside a slightly bigger box, at the bottom of a collection of her most treasured possessions. Photos of the kids as babies, of grandparents, of camping spots when they were still green and the sky was still blue. A necklace from her great-grandmother. And inside the smallest box, a ring; a simple platinum band in its cushion.

John notices her pensive mood but he gives her time to sort her thoughts out while her back is to him. He knows she will tell him when she's ready, and his quiet confidence in their newfound steadiness makes her smile as she looks at her wedding ring and knows this is right. He's still watching her from the bed when she stands and faces him again. Her short black nighty, usually worthy of at least the slightest of glances, doesn't get a mention as he searches her face for an answer to a question he doesn't know how to ask.

She steps to the bed in two strides and sits next to him. She holds out the box for him to see what's inside. His eyes widen at the ring, gaze glued to the way it sparkles in the dim light of their single lamp.

"You brought it with you", he says. There's a tinge of awe in his voice.

"I couldn't leave it behind", she replies.

She's a bit startled when he throws back the corner of the covers and spins out of bed to his own pile of stuff. It's a lot less organised - they are still in the process of rearranging the master bedroom to accommodate both of them - but he seems to know exactly where to look too. In a couple of heartbeats he is back at her side, sitting canted towards her, their knees flush against each other.

He holds a little velvet pouch upside down and tips its contents into his palm. Straight away she recognises the shape of his dogtags on a metal chain, their unmistakable clank familiar no matter how long it's been. There are some things that time and torment will never change, and as sure as Maureen is that she will always be a scientist, she knows John will always be a soldier. Maybe he left the Navy in a heartbeat, and maybe he regrets it being his priority for so long, but she's not as shocked as she expected to be that he brought his old dogtags with him. Probably for the same reasons she brought her lucky whiteboard.

From the pile of metal in his hand his fingers grasp at one piece, and as the chain and tags fall away, all that's left, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, is his own platinum wedding band, a little more battered than hers but still unmistakable.

"Neither could I", he says.

She lets out one choked huff of laughter and tries not to let sudden tears fall.

"So much… wasted time", she mutters, shaking her head, staring back at her own ring and all it means to her.

"Maureen", he says. He spins off the bed and onto one knee in front of her. She tries to protest, but the words don't come out, and his free hand takes hers to silence her anyway. "We are no longer who we used to be", he says.

She looks up at his face and cups his cheek with one hand. Her thumb runs patterns over his scruff.

"I can't promise you the same things I did before", he continues, and she realises what he's doing with such a shock it nearly winds her. "But this time I promise, I will always fight for you. I will always protect our kids. I will be patient on the hard days, and I'll remind you how brilliant you are on the low days. And every day in between I'll do my best to make you smile. Because all I want-"

His voice cracks a little. She wipes away his stray tears with her thumb on his cheek, but doesn't take her hand away. "All I've ever wanted, was to make you happy"

Maureen tries to ignore the lump in her throat as he takes her ring box from her hand, pulls the ring gently from its cushion, and then hold it up to her. "May I?" he asks.

She holds out her left hand and her tears fall unnoticed as she watches him slide the ring onto its rightful place on her finger, the echo of the first time they did this whispering against the reality of this being a fresh start to get it right. The weight of the ring on her finger feels strange; she hates that she somehow got used to not wearing it, but she also knows it's never coming off again. Maureen takes his face between her two hands and kisses him with such promise that they don't need a piece of paper to tell them what they mean to one another. But it's nice that she has that too, buried somewhere in her box of treasures.

When she pulls away, her hand immediately finds his - the one still tightly clutching his own ring - and she takes the tangled mess of tags and chain between her fingers. She finds the latch in the chain and methodically and unhurriedly untangles it so she can slide the ring off. When it's free she drops the chain and tags to the side on the bed, and they both stare at them for a moment, the symbolism not lost on either of them. They are not the people they used to be. These tiny pieces of metal, once his connection to identity and purpose, no longer have a place in the ashes from which they are trying to phoenix their lives, except perhaps to inform the expertise he acquired along the way.

John scoops them up and bundles them back into the velvet pouch, and then turns and tosses the little package on top of the bedside table. They will end up forgotten in a draw somewhere, buried where all their hurts and betrayals will go, never to be revisited so long as they build a new life for themselves away from Earth.

Maureen turns his face back towards her with her palm on his cheek, and then holds up his own ring.

"May I?" she mimics.

"Please", he whispers. It is more of a plea than permission.

She takes his left hand in hers and cradles it for a moment.

"I will never shut you out again", she says softly, and John is startled that she's doing this in return. He didn't expect that she would. "I will fight with you, and I will fight for you. I will support you, and let you support me. I will protect our children by your side, and I will come to you first, about anything"

Maureen takes a deep breath to clear her throat and blink back tears. "And I will never stop loving you", she finishes on a whisper. She knows she can promise that, because she tried - for over two years, through separation and heartache and deception and misery, she tried to fall out of love with him and it didn't work. She never could file those divorce papers, and she's honest enough to admit it's because she never stopped thinking of herself as John's wife.

Maureen slips the ring onto his finger, grinning a little as she struggles it over his knuckle, and when it's in place she lifts his hand to her lips and kisses the back of it, right over the top of the band, her head bowed as if in benediction to him where he genuflects at her feet.

Like a wave surging against a rock, John pushes himself up and around her, shifting between her legs and folding in so close they can't tell where one ends and the other begins. She can feel him everywhere, her body attuned to the warmth of him and the smell of him, to the sense that she can feel herself become more alive at an atomic level when they are this close, and she wonders if it's possible for two people to break the laws of entropy. Her arms circle him and their lips land on each other's shoulders, necks, behind her ear, under his chin, anywhere they can reach where they don't have to unlock their hold. Perhaps they are both a little afraid to let go just yet.

But then his kisses find her lips and one hand cups the back of her neck. One of hers threads into his hair, the way it's done a thousand times before, her other hand keeping him firmly against her without any spacesuits or equipment between them, and this was always her favourite place to land. She has no idea what's coming next, or how to fix the engine, or how to get them back where they came from, or how to make the air breathable or the water drinkable. Every problem has a solution, and this might be her biggest one yet. She has no idea if she will be able to keep her family safe, which is all she's ever really wanted.

But loving John, and being loved by John – this she knows how to do. This they will get good at again. And so she kisses him like this one moment might fix all the others of uncertainty, because if they can find their way back to each other, they can do anything.


	2. Chapter 1 and a half

_This chapter was going to be part of the first, but it's all smut and quite long so I split them. Warning: Very Mature._

_**The Fifth Day of Lazarus **_

_**~0~**_

_**Chap 1.5**_

Maureen's hand grabs at John's hair as the depth of her kiss increases, her heart yearning to get closer although there's no space between them as it is.

"I love you", he mutters against her, the words tracing over her skin, his lips refusing to pull back far enough to say it clearly. "I love you, I love you"

She sighs, and then leans away gently, a faint _John_ on her breath as she forces her eyes open to look at him. "Show me", she whispers.

This time she is ready for the way his body launches against her balance and all but pulls her back onto the bed.

They have made love since reuniting in the tar pit - frenzied and frantic the night after they crashed on this planet, the preceding two weeks like a blur of constant panic. Perhaps they should have sorted out more - had a longer and deeper discussion about what exactly went wrong and why they fell apart with a whimper - but by omission they have both decided it doesn't matter enough to disrupt this fragile and happy path forward. John moved into this bedroom and they sleep peacefully side-by-side, and though nothing else has happened bar that emotionally charged night, time is a healing thing, and their living arrangements give them perspective. The battles they are facing now, together, are bigger and more important than the tiny incremental ways that Earth hurt them. The apologies and explanations in the Chariot, and all that came after, were enough for their hearts to start to learn each other again.

They both got on the Resolute; they both crash landed here on the Water Planet; they both decided they will resume their life together no matter the cost, their family whole again, learning from the mistakes they made and hoping never to repeat them. This time, neither is going anywhere, even if they could, and that's what matters most.

They have made love since reuniting, but this still feels like a _first_, and Maureen knows they have wiped the slate clean with this simple act of devotion, rings exchanged, ready to begin again.

John's body covers hers just heavily enough to press her against the mattress, and she relishes the feel of the entire length of him slotting into familiar places at familiar angles. She plucks at his tee-shirt to pull it up his back, sighing at the feel of his warm skin under her palms.

"The door", he mutters.

"Locked", she replies. She took care of that much earlier.

"You really do think of everything", he says with a smirk, his voice so low it's filthy. She smirks right back, because he's right.

"Almost everything", she says, moving her hands off him so he can pull his tee-shirt over his head and flick it away. His eyes find hers in askance. "I certainly didn't think we'd end up like this when we boarded the Resolute"

"Some things change", he says with a shrug.

She shifts her hips up against him, feeling the start of his erection press against her, and he groans in that delicious, familiar way. "Some stay the same", she replies with a smirk. Her fingers play at the elastic of his trackpants and he takes the hint without question, pulling them down and off and flinging those away too, and then he's naked, kneeling above her, and she can't remember the last time she was this content.

Her hand traces down his chest, the shape of muscles and scars a little changed with time but the feeling still the same. His hands run over her thighs where they frame his hips and her skin tingles with the unfamiliar sensation of being touched where few people see. She imagines what she must look like to him, splayed out before him dressed only in her black nightie, willing and a bit wanton, and wanting him so badly she almost aches with it. She imagines it's quite a sight, and that makes her smile.

"You know", he says, his hands continuing their slow worship. "No matter what planet we're on, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen"

Maureen knows she's attractive - he used to tell her so all the time - but it still affects her more than she expects to hear him say it to her again. She runs her hands over his chest and stomach, and then lower.

"You're not so bad yourself", she says back, the look on her face belaying the casual flirtatiousness of her tone. He's always been one of the most handsome men she's ever met, though he doesn't care to peacock about it too much. Just so long as he's impressing _her_, that's all that matters. She used to be better at telling him that he did impress her, frequently; she promises herself that she'll get good at it again.

John takes her hands off him and pushes them down into the bedding by her head, leaning his weight over her to kiss her, smirking at the touch of her tongue in the kiss. "You'll get your turn", he says. "But first let me savour this"

She sighs in agreement and then moans into his kiss, her whole body on fire, and it's not often she gives over control to someone else but John Robinson making love to her has always been one of the places she does. If only for a little while, at least. He likes to impress her and she likes to let him.

Maureen shuffles as his hands slowly start to push her nightie up, and she moves her body piece by piece so she's never not underneath him, her hands obediently remaining by her side while he licks and nips and kisses each inch of skin revealed. He pulls her underwear off as she's pulling her nightie over her head, and then she's completely bare too, the both of them panting with lust. He kisses her sternum and whispers _beautiful_ into her skin. She gives up her barley and buries her fingers in his hair.

It's been years since they did this properly, and there was never anyone else in the picture while they were stuck in marriage purgatory. She wishes she could remember the last time between them, but it had been an ordinary night, before the letter arrived and shattered everything. Back when they had ordinary nights. It had been an ordinary, perfectly nice frolic in their bed back on Earth, just because they could, nothing remarkable about it, their movements practiced and satisfying. She can't even remember what day it was.

It doesn't matter now anyway.

John's hands trace over her skin, playing her body, because he still knows it so well. She holds him close to her because she likes the feeling of his skin against hers, his weight above her proving this is real. Other nights he might indulge her with his mouth all over – or she with him – and draw this out longer, but tonight they want it like this; his kisses never dipping lower than the underside of her breast while his hands work to ensure she will be ready for him. She's already close before his fingers even dip inside her.

And then he's leaning over and seeking out her eyes –asking if she's ready and willing without ever opening his mouth.

"Yes", she whispers, pulling him down to kiss the breath from his lungs as he enters her and steals her own. The memory of this – the long-held knowledge that the two of them feel amazing together – doesn't compare to the reality of experiencing it again. Her eyes catch sight of her left hand clutching his shoulder, the ring still an unfamiliar weight but looking like it belongs there, and a wave of serenity washes over her. This is how they always should have been. This is the piece that's been missing all this time. The two of them, not just together, but _together_, _John and Maureen_, the unit, the union, the team. They respect each other as individuals, but she has always marvelled at who they are when there's no space between them at all. They are _better_ like this.

John's breath his heavy against her shoulder, not making a sound as he settles his weight over and inside her, getting used to the feeling again. Maureen wants to encourage him to move, to _go_, to _touch_, but doesn't want to send the wrong message that she's scratching an itch, and she wants this to last more than she wants it to end. Instead she runs her hands over his shoulders, his back, up into his hair and down over his ass; runs her feet up and down his calves and hooks one knee over the jut of his hip. And then she stays there creating friction out of no movement at all. The moments in between are when she feels the hottest – the clench of her muscles around him, the press of him against her; it's in the spaces of stillness that she feels most alive, greater than the sum of their parts. _Fuck you, entropy_, she thinks, and then they move.

He was always _damn_ good at this, but he is also a good listener. He knows all of her sounds, the hitch of her breath _just so_, the moan she covers by biting her bottom lip. They've been parents for a long time and always had small children around – they know how to keep quiet enough not to get caught, and damned if she's going to break that record just because they're a million billion miles from where they started. But _god_, he doesn't make it easy.

Yet Maureen has always been an excellent student, and if there is one topic she delights in, it is John Robinson's body. Every trick she knows – every change of angle, or sweep of her tongue against his neck, or scratch of her nails along his back _not quite_ hard enough to mark him – gets trotted out tonight like she's proving a point. Like she's reminding him it's her turn now, too. She can pinpoint the exact moment she begins to overwhelm him, because she feels him hum through his chest. And then he tightly grabs hold of her thigh, pressing it higher for leverage, hooks his forearm under the small of her back, and in one well-practiced manoeuvre spins them over so that she's straddling him as he flops gracelessly onto his back beneath her. In the process he slides out of her, but she quickly fixes that.

And then she's sitting above him, his smirking and contented face looking up at her, his hands still tracing all over the newly exposed parts of her, and the pace changes again. John wants her to go over first – he always does – and he likes being able to watch it happen. He also wants her to work for it; use his body in the best possible way.

Maureen realises all of these things at the same time, with a feral grin.

And so she does, and throws her head back when his hands wander – to caress and pinch and roll her flesh exactly how she needs it while she rises and falls above him. She plants her hands on his pecks and rounds her back, head bowed forward and breath panting between parted lips; she sits back up, and when she does, takes one of his hands from her breast and directs it lower. He doesn't need any further instructions. Time stops existing for a moment as she climbs, and when she shatters she keeps her eyes on him until they flutter shut of their own accord.

He rocks her gently back down, but they're not done yet. Her wide, delighted smile tells him they aren't done – the sweat is cooling on her back, but it won't take long to feel warm again when she gets him exactly as she wants him. Her hands trace over his chest; his length is still hot and hard inside her.

John wraps a hand around her back and uses the other to push himself to a seat, bringing his mouth level with her clavicle, and he kisses across her chest and neck in quiet worship. Maureen's eyes close, and both her hands card into his hair to hold him there, or pull him away, she's not sure. When he pulls back enough to meet her eye he looks hungry.

"Turn us back over", she whispers to him.

There's a grin playing at the corner of her mouth. It's not a request.

So he does.

Holding her hips tightly into him with one arm, he thrusts up with a grunt of effort and spins them both over, mindful of where the headboard and edges of the bed are, as he lands them back the way they started. Maureen gasps and plants her mouth against his shoulder at the hard sensation – almost too hard, but she asked for this – her knees staying high on his ribs and her ankles wrapping over the small of his back. This time he doesn't slip out. The sudden press inside when he lands above her, and the feeling of being manhandled like she hasn't been since they were younger, has her swallowing a groan as her teeth press into his flesh. She can hear his answering pants by her ear, his face buried in the pillow by her head while he collects himself.

"Sweet moves", she whispers. She's grinning to the ceiling with one hand clutching at his hair. He huffs once, like a laugh, and then props himself up above her.

"Thanks", he replies. He must see another retort forming on her lips because he kisses her before she can say it, effectively putting an end to their banter until he can get her off again and then finish the way his body is crying out for. He pulls away from her lips and gains his leverage.

"Want to show me some more?" she asks, grinning.

He takes great pride in the way her eyes roll back and the grin wipes from her face at the feeling of his first thrust inside her. This time he moves hard and steady, finding their favourite rhythm with ease. She's close, but she thinks he might be closer, and he doesn't flinch when she moves one of her hands down between them to help even the odds. They've done this a thousand times before and aren't particularly interested in getting adventurous tonight; there's time enough for that later, and they've gone past the point of no return now. She works herself exactly how she needs to, relishes John above her, and quickly approaches the crest and fall that has her sighing contentedly beneath him.

"Did you-?" he grunts, not once easing his pace.

"Yeah"

He makes another non-descript sound as he concentrates on letting go. She rests her feet flat against the back of his thighs and her hands on his back. Feels the sweat of their bodies and the small shocks of pleasure still jolting through her as, with a stutter, his relentlessness falters and he buries his face into the pillow near her ear to cover the groan of pleasure he can't hold back. She can't wipe the smile from her face.

_Oh yes_, she thinks. _This is how we always should have been_.

It takes them a long while to move, and when they do it's not far from each other. Everything feels hot, and sweaty, and tingly, and she loves it, but they have to sort themselves out before they can't move at all.

John catches his breath and leans up above her to meet her eye. "How were those sweet moves?"

She can't stop the laugh the bounds forth unbidden and unbridled, not concerned in the least if anyone hears her at this point. She runs her hands over his shoulders as her answer, her smile wide and deeply happy. He rolls off her with a grunt and she immediately moves with him, the two of them settling into the bed with her practically draped over his chest, laying on her stomach and propped on her elbow to look at him. John tucks her hair behind her ear and they take the moment.

"Do you think we win for the most remote place to renew our vows?" he asks, trying to play it cool, though she knows he is quite overcome by the gesture of tonight.

Ordinarily she would tease him right back – say some remark that makes her seem the colder one, the more practical one – but sometimes, when she needs him to know just how deep her affection runs or how seriously she takes something, Maureen becomes the sombre one to his clown, her still waters running deeper than most people give her credit. Sometimes, on days like today and nights like this one, she feels like she can't ever fully express to him just what he means to her.

She's always been aloof. With John she has always been determined to try harder not to be.

"I'm just glad we got a chance to say them", she says softly, looking him in the eye. There is more she'd like to say, or perhaps more where that came from; that she's sorry they broke apart so easily; that she knows she kept him at arm's length longer than she wanted to; that she always loved him despite the distance. And maybe John has his own list of regrets to match, or maybe he doesn't think it's important anymore, but his eyes reflect his understanding and she can see the echo of her sorrys written in the furrow of his brow, just so.

Her hand reaches out and she traces that one wrinkle at the top of his nose with the tip of her finger. He closes his eyes at the feeling.

"I meant every word", says John softly.

"So did I", she returns on a whisper.

This planet is one hell of a second chance, but neither of them is willing to waste it.

He folds her closer to him, pulling her on top of his chest, and she closes her eyes and breaths in deep, burying her face against his neck, letting this memory settle inside her where all their other happiness lives. Where all their future happiness will one day rest as a treasured memory, this sorry planet and their journey off it a story they can recall in their old age, she's sure.


	3. Chapter 2

_Will turned twelve on the water planet. His parents have lots of memories. More headcanon than canon, but still fits. Rated Teen and Up._

_CW: traumatic birth_

**_The Fifth Day of Lazarus _**

**_~0~_**

**_Chap 2_**

There aren't a lot of milestones to celebrate while travelling in space. Penny turned sixteen a few days before they set off from Earth, and they hosted a party for her which became a going-away party for the family. John's birthday ticked over when he was deployed, and Don's was just before the first robot attack, three months into the journey on the Resolute. Judy will turn nineteen in another six weeks, and Maureen isn't ready to accept her baby girl isn't a baby anymore.

Maureen hadn't celebrated her birthday in years, beyond the kids giving her a card and a voucher to a day-spa she never made time to use. Memories of John being home, making breakfast in bed with the kids and spoiling her rotten made the empty, quiet mornings of single adulthood feel more depressing than celebratory, so in the end she just stopped altogether. But three weeks into their habitation of the Water Planet, John surprised her in the best possible way, whispering soft _happy birthday_s into her skin, and she learned to appreciate the day again almost instantly, even if they all hate sweet potato cake.

In space they kept track of dates as a matter of habit, and Alpha Centauri is using a whole new calendar to account for a new solar cycle. They were supposed to nominate themselves equivalent birthday dates when they arrived – some policy wonk had devised a change-over system so that new settlers could transition to the new calendar, and Penny delighted in talking about the use of the Roman calendar and its basis for the Gregorian as an example of history repeating.

For the most part, they don't worry about dates in space, but since landing on the aptly-named Water Planet, they started to note them again, even if the seasons don't match. _Like travelling to the southern hemisphere_, John said – the same but a little different. Or very different.

"Exactly twelve years ago my contractions started", Maureen says into the dark. Beside her John hums to acknowledge he heard her, but it's not a happy sound. The memory of that day, and of the subsequent hours, will remain with him as one of the worst days of his life. And they've been through a lot since then.

"Too early", he says, and she can hear the pain in his voice. Maureen rolls over into his side, the closeness of her body all but forcing him to wrap his arms around her to accommodate. If they're going to talk about this, it's going to be from the comfort of each other's embrace. They've been on this ship for four months now, their new normal (or perhaps _rediscovered_ normal) feeling more comfortable by the day. It's alarming how easily they slipped back into old habits from when their marriage was happy, and she sometimes wonders if it would have been so easy if they'd stayed on Earth and talked about their problems. Somehow it feels like multiple near-death experiences worked in their favour in that regard, healing their rift almost overnight as their battle scars from the other planet fade. But there are some wounds that will always hurt, regardless of what planet they're on, and some memories they will always carry together like a shared burden.

"I was so scared", she whispers into his chest. His arms tighten around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

He was scared too. The middle of the night moans of pain, the tiny spots of blood in the bed, the echo of Maureen's desperate _no, no, no,_ as more contractions ripped through her – all of it still fresh in his mind. He was terrified.

"I think I broke every traffic rule between the house and the hospital", he says.

"Thank God my mother was staying with us at the time", she replies.

The girls were left at home with their Grandma while John carried Maureen to the car and laid her on the back seat, and then promptly broke several laws to get her to the emergency department while she moaned and cried the whole way. _It's too soon_, he can hear her say in his memory. _It's too early, he's too early, John do something._

"You know", he starts. He stops for a second as his voice cracks, and then clears his throat and continues. "That night was the first time it occurred to me that it was possible to lose you"

She blinks long and slow into the dark. Her fingers flex against his chest.

"And not because of something I did, or something I said. But because sometimes you just… lose people"

The pain in his voice cuts through her like a knife. Will was born eight weeks early, with a weak heart and failing kidneys; both he and his mother nearly bled out during labour, and for 36 hours John was left alone to make monumental decisions while Maureen was in surgery and then unconscious, clinging to life while her tiny son did the same. She wishes she had been there for him, imagining his panic and his despair, powerless while his family suffered.

"You've always been this… this dynamo", he continues. "But that night…"

She holds him a little tighter.

"And when the doctors asked me – when Will was barely breathing and his heart rate was dropping and they asked me if I wanted them to keep fighting for him…"

Maureen's breath hitches.

"All I kept thinking was, _what would Maureen do_?"

He turns his head and plants a kiss against her forehead, the two of them clutching each other. "You never give up fighting for your children", he says, his voice tinged with awe at her strength and resilience; her fortitude and capability. "So how could I live with myself if I did?"

That night was the first time he'd had to make a parenting decision without her; the first time it had rested on his shoulders alone, the future of their family and the fate of their son in his hands. Maureen had always been the decision-maker, and he accepted that from the moment he met her, tiny baby Judy on her hip. He joined their little family to become her support pillar, the one at her back as she went head-first into any project she put her mind to, motherhood included. He relished his role in their family.

He can still feel the flush of white-hot panic as he stood in that corridor, speaking to the doctor, faced with a choice he never trained for, wasn't ready for. He could handle a battlefield. That damned hospital hallway was something different.

"When I woke up", she says, her voice rough with emotion. "And you told me he was sick, but he was holding on…"

He remembers. They cried together, that day, her body wrapped from surgery, her arms littered with IVs and wires. He had to tell her about the bleeding, and the emergency hysterectomy, and Will's critical condition – had to explain that she couldn't see him yet because he was in neo-natal intensive care and she wasn't strong enough to get out of bed. She cried some more, wanting to hold her son, and all he could do was hold her, and tell her he loved her, and loved the name she suggested in their bed two nights earlier, _William Robinson is a strong name, it suits him_.

He didn't tell her about the doctor's choice until much later, when Will was starting to put on weight and thrive.

"He's a fighter", says John, a smile in his tone, the conversation turning away from the pain and instead towards hope.

Maureen thinks of that damn aptitude test, the panic on her son's face as he tried so hard to be good enough to go to space, and she thinks, _if only they knew how hard you already fought to be here_. That's why she did it; that's why they are stranded; because she knew her son could do the impossible. He already had. He lived, when even modern medicine, in his very first hours, thought he wouldn't.

"He gets that from his dad", she says, squeezing him.

John scoffs. "We both know it's all you"

"Don't sell yourself short", she says, her tone light but genuine. "You nearly died several times over for us, soldier boy"

They make light of some of their trials, because they can't do anything else. But she tries not to think about the Chariot, John's hand on the hatch, about to drown himself in tar for her. She tries not to think about his choice to go back to the battlefront on Earth; how a man such as John would see sacrifice as duty, and his death as acceptable collateral for the right cause. She tries not to wonder what life would be like without him, though they've both had to face that reality several times since that night twelve years ago.

"I think we're all fighters, in our own ways", he deflects, but it's not an empty observation. If that planet taught them anything it was their limits, and the lengths they will all go for one another.

"The girls are excited for Will's party tomorrow", says Maureen, pulling them back from the past and into the present. "They refuse to tell me what they planned for him"

John smiles. That sounds like them.

"I saw Don putting together a playlist", he says with a smirk. Maureen smiles too, though it's a confused smile, a delighted smile –one that John often inspires in her, as she contemplates possibilities she can only imagine by looking at the world through his eyes.

"You know what they say", he continues, his fingers walking over her back. "Where there's music, there's dancing"

She giggles a little and rolls her face into his shoulder. There's a damp spot on his tee-shirt from where she was crying, but there's no more tears now. Will is healthy and sleeping peacefully down the hall, about to turn twelve, and their family is in a constant state of peril but relatively safe in this little bubble.

"Are you promising me a dance?" she asks, incredulous. John avoids dancing until the last possible moment, though he's quite good at it. Normally she had to drag him kicking and screaming to Navy events, and practically bribe him to the dance floor to take her for a spin. He always went willingly in the end, she thinks because he liked seeing her so happy, but it was a game they had to play at every party. And now he's changing the rules, and she'll give him credit, this new John is full of surprises.

"As many as you'd like", he says. "Although knowing Don's taste in music it might have to be a dougie"

She bursts out laughing at the mental picture, letting the shake of her body bring out a laugh from him too. "I would pay to see you do that", she says through her dying chuckles, and that inspires another round of laughter from him.

By the time they calm down their hold isn't quite so tight, the two of them lying side by side on their backs with Maureen's head rested on John's bicep. Her left hand flings gently back into his chest, and his left hand comes up to hold it, then brings it to his lips and he kisses the back of her knuckles.

"He's growing up so fast", says John with a smile.

"He's still our little boy", says Maureen, clinging to that truth for as long as she possibly can, at least for now.

"We've got really awesome kids", says John. She just hums and smiles. One of the first things she loved about him was the way he loved Judy; she's been falling for him ever since, watching him be a father all these years.

"They've got really awesome parents", she quips back. He snorts, but doesn't disagree; takes the compliment as he lets her have it as well.

"That's us. The Awesome Robinsons"

This time she snorts. "Sounds like a terrible remake of The Incredibles"

"Hey, I loved that movie as a kid"

Maureen shuffles onto her side but back further on her side of the bed. "Well, come on Mister Incredible, we should get some sleep. No doubt Will is going to wake us at the crack of dawn tomorrow"

John settles on his back and throws his arm higher on the pillow, his other hand resting on his chest. The man could sleep anywhere, in any position – military men are like that, she's heard – but she still finds it funny that in a foreign bed in another galaxy he sleeps just like he used to back home. The same positions, rinse and repeat.

Will used to sleep that way when he was a baby – one hand thrown up over his little head, snuffling contentedly in his crib – once he was healthy enough to bring home. Maureen used to sit for hours and watch him. She hasn't ever really stopped.

"I can't believe my baby is going to be twelve", she whispers.

John puffs through his nose with a tiny smile, sleep starting to pull him in. "We're getting old, babe"

"Speak for yourself", she says, and then lets her eyes close too. Maybe he's right, but she doesn't care. Getting old is a privilege these days. She intends to enjoy it, and watch her kid's birthdays come and go, and one day she will get them off this planet and into their new life. And until then, she plans to enjoy dancing with her husband and eating veggie cake with her son. He's earned it.


End file.
